


Pretty Little Galway Girl

by Imoshen



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2020 [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Canon What Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Genderbending, Ketch's red nails, Mention of torture, Oral Sex, Rule 63, Scratching, female Ketch, female Mick, implied marriage, laughter in bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:59:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26342251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imoshen/pseuds/Imoshen
Summary: The team Davies/Ketch is known for pulling off missions other teams have failed. But they don't stop there, because the British Men of Letters are in serious need of an attitude adjustment.
Relationships: Mick Davies/Arthur Ketch
Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1617691
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5
Collections: SPN Kink Bingo 2020





	Pretty Little Galway Girl

**Author's Note:**

> written for the square Scratching on my Kink Bingo card.
> 
> Title taken from the song of the same name.

The team Davies/Ketch is known throughout the British Men of Letters as the team that Gets Shit Done. They’re the ones who get called in when others fucked up, the cavalry who rides to the rescue. They’re damn good at it, too, good enough for the upper echelons to turn a blind eye to a personal relationship that is, officially, forbidden. (Ketch cites that rule as part of the reasons why the upper echelons are going to go down burning one day soon.)

Mick used not to mind that her sole purpose is cleaning up other agents’ messes. In a way, she even thought it a badge of honor – here is Mikayla Davies, the woman who will pull your ass out of the fire so you can fuck up another day. Then shit went sideways, _badly_ , when she was sent out solo. The team she’d been sent to retrieve was long dead, and she’d walked into the same trap unknowingly. She’d hung on, ignored the demons’ taunts and the pain of what they did to her body, certain Headquarters would send someone to get her – and for a long time, nobody came.

Mick eventually freed herself because even demons can make mistakes, and she made her own way back to England – to be met with her own obituary. She was reinstated, of course, after running the whole gamut of tests and psych evals, and somewhere between day one and day three Ketch showed up and refused to leave her side.

The wild look in her lover’s eyes had alerted Mick to the fact that something was very, _very_ wrong. She’d taken Ketch home as soon as she was allowed to leave Headquarters, and that night she had learned exactly how expendable she was to the upper echelons. They’d refused to send anyone out to even look for her after she missed a check-in, hadn’t even informed Ketch she was MIA. When her lover found out, she’d been reprimanded for demanding someone look for her, and been sent on a mission to the other end of the world – after a thorough reminder of what happened to people who _turned traitor_.

Maybe it was because she’d been tortured by demons. Maybe it was because she’d been _tortured,_ and her voice was still rough from all the screaming she’d done. Maybe it was because of the look in Ketch’s eyes, lost and hurt and defeated in a way Mick never wanted to see her again. She held that gaze, rested her own hands over where Ketch was still touching her with such hesitancy, and knew the loyalty that had been drilled into them from the day they set foot into Kendricks was gone.

The beginnings of their plan to take over the British Men of Letters were born that night.

Doctor Hess is the last of the Elders to find out she’s newly out of a job. She does so by running into the Battle Room of the London Headquarters, only to abruptly slip on the blood on the floor. She doesn’t fall, but that’s only because she manages to catch herself on a convenient chair.

Mick would’ve loved to see her face-plant on the floor, but she suspects one simply can’t have _everything_ after all. “Hello, Doctor Hess,” she greets her former headmistress politely. “I’m very happy to inform you that your services are no longer required in any form.”

Hess’ glare alone might be able to light something on fire, Mick muses. “You,” Hess hisses at her. “You insane bitch, we should’ve put you down when you violated the code the first time, you and Guinevere Ketch both. Unnatural, perverted…”

“You might want to shut up now,” Mick informs her coldly. “You see, Mr. Gibbon called me a pervert already today, and I took quite a lot of pleasure in making him retract that insult.”

Hess’ gaze travels over the floor until she finds Gibbon, and she pales rapidly. Mick smirks; she learned _a lot_ when she was a guest of the demons all those years back. Doctor Hess also seems to realize just now that there’s more than one pool of blood slowly drying on the tiled floor. Horror crawls over her face. “You killed them all?” she breathes, finally shaken.

“No,” Ketch drawls from where she’s been lurking in the shadows across the room. “We did.”

Hess has just enough time to look up and appreciate the knowledge of what’s about to happen before Ketch pulls the trigger. Another body on the floor, another slowly-spreading pool of blood. Mick peers down at her splattered boots and sighs.

“Whoever has to mop this up should probably be given a raise,” she says, and Ketch laughs. Mick looks up at her and swallows at the sight of Ketch’s perfectly manicured, bloodred nails against the black of her gun. The sight has her heart pick up every damn time, and right now she can feel the warmth and beginning wetness between her legs. Ketch grins at her, knowing full well what she’s doing. “Come on, Miss Davies. We have an organization to finish claiming.”

Mick sighs and nods, stepping over Hess’ body. “No rest for the wicked.”

Ketch’s fingers are gentle as they trail over Mick’s skin, pausing at a long-healed scar. “They died way too fast,” she murmurs, tracing the pale line.

Mick laughs and stretches. She’s feeling lazy and their bed is warm and comfortable, and she wants Ketch’s fingers to be less gentle, for her lover to use those sharp nails the way they both enjoy the most. “Bloodthirsty, mo grá. They didn’t do this.”

Ketch shivers a little at the Irish dropping off Mick’s tongue. “No,” she agrees, going back to stroking. “But it’s still their fault it got this bad.”

Mick shrugs and shifts up into Ketch’s touch. “So mark me,” she breathes, watches her lover’s eyes darken in arousal. “C’mon, Gin, it’s been forever.”

Ketch’s nails dig into her skin, the sharp ache and the visual of those trademark red nails on her just what she needs. Mick sighs and arches, and Ketch drags her nails down her belly, over her hip and down her thigh as far as she can reach. On Mick’s fair skin, the pink lines left behind look spectacular.

“You _are_ a little pervert,” Ketch purrs into her ear, dancing a single nail up her belly. It digs in at the bottom of her breast, leaves a faint pink line up to the nipple. Mick’s breath hitches. “Kinky little shit.”

“Hi pot, I’m kettle,” Mick moans, stretching out to give her lover more room. Ketch laughs and kisses her, and her nails scratch down Mick’s back as she arches. Mick whines into the kiss, arousal a molten heat in her veins, gathering low in her belly. Ketch runs her nails over Mick’s throat in a barely-there scratch, the lines so faint they’ll be gone in a few minutes, then down over one breast to play with it, stroking then pinching then scratching again. Mick moans and squirms beneath the touch, and then finally rolls because she needs to touch, needs to feel Ketch warm and alive under her hands. Her lover catches her, wraps an arm around her and Mick gets a thigh between Ketch’s, feels how warm and slick she is just from watching Mick squirm for her.

She loses herself a little for a while, holds her lover close and kisses and touches and moans for every harder pass of nails over her skin, swallows the noises Ketch makes when she shifts her thigh a little harder against her. It’s Ketch’s hand in her hair, dragging her back, that finally breaks the spell.

Sharp teeth nip a line up her throat to her ear, Ketch’s breath hot against her skin. “What do you want, pretty lass?”

Mick laughs and moans at the same time. “Your accent is horrible,” she complains. Ketch mock-growls at her, nails raking down her back, and Mick moans louder and pushes herself closer against Ketch. Strong fingers grab her ass and squeeze, nails digging in just so. “Fuck!”

“Mhmmm,” Ketch hums, a low, drawn-out sound. She rolls Mick onto her back and kisses her again, short and hungry, before her mouth trails down Mick’s throat, going lower and lower. Mick fights herself up onto her elbows because she _has_ to see – Ketch grins up at her, spreads her legs wide with both shoulders, and licks a stripe up through Mick’s slick folds. Her lips close around Mick’s clit and suck lightly, and Mick curses and sags back onto the bed – and that is when Ketch really sets to work eating her out, using all the skill and knowledge of Mick’s body she learned over the years. Mick gasps and curses and squirms in her hold, unable to help herself as arousal is fanned higher and higher, and she screams when fingers push into her without warning, stretching her deliciously. Ketch hums against her, the nails of her free hand scratching down Mick’s side, _hard_ , as her fingers curl and rub just so.

Mick comes with another scream, and Ketch keeps stroking and sucking, not letting her come down from the high for what feels like a long time. When she finally relents and lets Mick catch her breath, it’s with a very self-satisfied smirk.

Mick grins back, wild and _happy_ , and lunges, tackling her lover to the bed.

Time to return the favor.

Ketch strokes tender fingers over the marks she left on Mick’s skin, smiling as her lover purrs and stretches beneath her touch. She loves the sight of Mick all scratched up by her, sated and lazy with it. “I’ll have to be more careful now, won’t I?” she murmurs. “Can’t have Director Davies all marked up.”

Mick snorts. “That sounds horrible,” she mutters. “ _Director Davies?_ What shit have you been smoking?”

Ketch shrugs, but the question has merit going by the thoughts that are bouncing around in her head. “What, you telling me you don’t want to sit around on that pretty ass all day and run this show?”

“Fuck no!”

Ketch laughs and kisses her lover, and Mick laughs, too, once she’s caught her breath. “We’ll find a way,” she tells Ketch with a wry little smile. “We’d go insane, cooped up in Headquarters all the time.”

She’s probably right, Ketch thinks as she rolls them around so Mick’s on top of her and pulls her down into another kiss. Damn, she liked the idea of having her over her desk.

The team Davies/Ketch is still known to Get Shit Done. They’re still the ones who take on the complicated cases, ride to the rescue of teams who fucked up… and everyone who now leads the organization knows that if _they_ fuck up, the last thing they will see are bloodred nails and cold smiles before there’s a bullet with their name on it.

Nobody is suicidal enough to inquire after the scratch marks Mikayla Davies regularly wears, just as nobody is suicidal enough to remark on the claddagh ring on Guinevere Ketch’s hand… or the paperwork that is filed, quietly, about a year after the same-sex marriage laws pass. And if HR has to quietly file several more sets of that kind of paperwork in the months after… well, nobody is complaining about that.

Happy operatives do better work, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments make an author's day <3


End file.
